


boy-toys and biker gangs

by serenfire



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, ColdFlash Week, Fake Dating, It's wonderful, M/M, everyone's a nerd and gay and high school upperclassmen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4811186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenfire/pseuds/serenfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Len’s having locker trouble when Barry Allen pops the question on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one: proposition

**Author's Note:**

> @anyone I know irl: do not read thanks

Len’s having locker trouble when Barry Allen pops the question on him. He’s not sure how his locker key got kicked under the (locked) janitorial closet, and hasn’t quite perfected lockpicking yet, so he’s in a position that a more graceful person could pull off as yoga when Barry Allen’s shoes appear in his field of vision.

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” asks Barry, arms almost disappearing completely into his hoodie.

Len scowls at him. “What are you, a sophomore? Maybe wait a few years, kid.”

Barry clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m a junior, thanks. And that’s not what I meant -- not dating for real. Pretend dating.”

“And why would I want to pretend to date you? Please, enlighten me.” Len grits his teeth and fishes the key out from under the door with his Pre-Calc homework, which is slightly singed.

“I heard you weren’t doing too well in Physiology,” Barry says, folding his arms and watching Len’s face impassively as the senior stands with all his remaining dignity.

“And why would you want to not date me?”

“My dad’s trying to set me up with Patty Spivot,” Barry explains. “She’s great, and nice, and there’s no way I can tell her no.”

“Except to start dating someone else so you can majorly hurt her feelings and respect for you.”

Len’s not sure how Barry Allen has gotten this far in life without doing something as harebrained as making enemies with half his graduating class.

Barry frowns. “She wouldn’t think that, would she? Iris told me this would be a good idea. She thought you’d go for the free Physio help.”

Len huffs, and opens his locker. Barry follows him like a shadow, with the exception that Len’s shadow would never be seen dead in that haircut.

Physiology has been kicking his ass, and Len generally doesn’t enjoy academic failure. His reputation already took a plummet once he came out of the closet, so hanging out with the Allen kid might be beneficial.

“Spivot will be fine,” he says, and dumps his Physio textbook into Barry’s arms. “When can we set up the first tutoring session?”

“We’ll have to be Facebook official first,” Barry chews on his lip. “And then you might need to meet my dad.”

Len closes his eyes. “Your want me to meet your dad, the cop. Me, the frequent to juvie. That will go over fine.” He takes the textbook back. “Ask Caitlin if you need a cover. I can navigate muscle and bone names on my own.”

“Wait,” says Barry, coloring at the cheeks.

His lankiness actually makes his awkward approach to life seem cute, Len notes.

“I don’t want to fake date Caitlin.”

“If you’re not really dating her, Barry, it doesn’t matter who you choose.”

“I’ll also help you with your Pre-Calc,” Barry says. “God, please. We don’t have to be Facebook official. Or meet my dad. Please.”

“Fine, Allen. Not meeting your dad sounds doable. Now, when’s the first tutoring session?”

Barry takes a couple of stabilizing breaths, the flush in his neck decreasing. “I’m free this afternoon.”

“This afternoon it is,” Len decides. “Now, would you mind getting out of my way?”

***

“Barry Allen,” Lisa repeats, for the third time. “Okay, I guess, but I can’t really see you with that loser.”

“It’s not a real thing,” Len scowls, again, and pokes at his cafeteria-produced hamburger. “He needs a date to get someone jealous, and I need academic help. It’s nothing more than that.”

Lisa frowns, and waves at Cisco from across the cafeteria. “He hasn’t come out of the closet yet,” she mused. “Unless he’s not…?”

Len shrugs. “How should I know?”

“Well, you are dating him. In relationships, people generally know the other’s sexuality.”

“We’ve been ‘dating’ for three hours, Lisa.”

“Is he asking you to stare menacingly at whoever he’s trying to piss off or make jealous? Are you the boyfriend and bodyguard?”

“He wanted me to meet his dad,” Len says. “You know, the Detective.”

Lisa smirks. “When you do, keep talking about that one bank you stood up, what was it, Central Collective? The clerks were lovely, weren’t they? Best company you ever had waiting for the cop cars to show up. Also mention how you were completely drunk off your ass.”

“Sure,” Len scoffs. “I made Allen rescind the offer. There’s no way I’m getting within a half mile of that man.”

“Well,” Lisa pats her older brother on the back sympathetically, “good luck with your relationship anyway.”

***

When Len shows up to the library, Barry is lounging at the table, sitting across from his adopted sister, Iris. He’s engaged in a long description of nuclear physics and only cuts off his mathematical explanation when Len sits down next to him.

Iris brightens. “Pleasure to meet Barry’s new boy toy,” she grins.

Barry coughs. “Iris, would you mind--”

“No, please,” Len snarks. “Barry’s ‘boy toy’ doesn’t mind at all. Isn’t that right, Allen?”

Barry burns beet red and flips off Iris.

Iris winks. “I’ll just leave you two to it,” she says, gathering her materials.

When she leaves, Barry finally makes eye contact. “Well then,” he swallows, voice wavering in the upper echelons of his register. “What did you want to study?”

“Physio pop quiz tomorrow,” Len tells him. “Cardiovascular system.”

“Got it,” Barry breathes, gripping the table in his hands.

After he stumbles through an explanation of the basic functions and names of the heart, Len says, “I’m going to a party this Friday. Most all the seniors are going. You wanna go?”

Barry’s face turns an orange shade again. “You’re inviting me to an illegal party with drugs and alcohol?”

Len rolls his eyes. “Does your dad hype them up that much? There’s WalMart wine and, like, weed, maybe. I don’t even know. No one goes to it for the illegal shit. We have to be seen out and about in society. And, as my boyfriend, you need to be seen as well. To make sure Spivot gets the message.”

“Right,” Barry blinks. “You know I could tell my dad about the party? He totally busts high school parties in his spare time.”

“But you won’t,” Len continues, “because I’m not about to give you the address. I’ll pick you up.”

“You’ll willingly come to my house,” Barry translates, “even though you’re scared stiff of my dad. That seems totally reasonable.”

“Not at your house. At the intersection near your house.”

“You know where my house is?”

“Lisa and Iris interact, I think. I know where your house is.”

“Right. It’s not like you -- never mind.”

It’s not like he what? Stalks Barry?

“So, are you coming?” Len repeats.

“Give me your number,” Barry nods.

***

Before Friday, Barry tutors Len once, and they make it official on Facebook. Somehow. It involves Lisa’s constant badgering and melodramatic tales of he and Barry making a wonderful team someday. Len reviews his reasons for asking Barry to the party (spread rumors, make himself seem Out and Proud like a normal gay person, and have fun watching the kid either get shitfaced or stay awkwardly sober).

Friday night is a confusing occasion. Len knows how he usually arrives to senior parties alone on his motorcycle and wearing his darkest clothes that reveal no stains of the night’s ventures.

He thinks of how Barry, the cop’s kid, will look in the midst of all the ravagers of society, the derelicts the saintly child probably doesn’t spare a glance at. Maybe the famed Patty Spivot herself will be there. It might even be an interesting party if Len doesn’t black out within an hour of arrival, as per usual.

Len rides his motorcycle to the agreed-upon spot, near enough to Barry’s apple pie house to see the lights in the windows. He stares at Barry’s white picket fence life and picks at the stitches on his leather jacket. He still can’t figure out why Barry would associate with him, fake-romantically, even.

All Len knows is that he’s doing this for the free tutoring. Right?

“Hey,” Barry calls from somewhere to Len’s right. Len raises his eyebrows as Barry huffs into view, clutching his side. “Not used to running. Give me a second.”

“Decided to offend your dad and the right side of the law, I see. Good choice.” Len watches as the spindly kid gets on the motorcycle behind him. Len swallows as Barry grabs his waist for support.

He only invited the kid, the junior, the cop’s adopted son, because they were fake dating. Right?

“Come on,” Barry laughs into his ear, eliciting a warm curl in Len’s gut.

Goddamnit.

“Let’s go flaunt our fake relationship at everybody you know,” says Barry, and Len sighs.


	2. two: bic lighter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I heard a cool brain teaser this week. It went something like this:
> 
> Three men in a boat have four cigarettes but no lighter. How do they manage to smoke?
> 
> The answer is: They throw one cigarette over the boat and make it one cigarette lighter.
> 
> SO ANYWAYS that incident totally did not at all influence this chapter. Enjoy :)

The party is at Mick Rory’s house (the new one his parents’ insurance bought after the ‘accident’ with the matchsticks) and by the time Len and Barry casually glide up on the cycle, the throng of upperclassmen have kick started the party. A few loose-limbed girls are already making out on the front lawn. 

Barry can’t take his gaze off the lovebirds as they dismount. Len raises an eyebrow. 

“New to the concept of making out, Allen?” 

Barry frowns, receding inside his hoodie. 

“Just teasing,” Len hurries to add, rolling his eyes. The teasing wasn’t even mean-spirited, and yet an uncomfortable splatter of feelings well up inside his throat. 

As they enter the house, Len keeps an arm slung around Barry’s shoulders. His very wide and strong shoulders, which, in line with Len’s usual luck, is a huge turn on. Wonderful. 

Mick surprises Len by laughing at him loudly across the entry way. “Who’s the new flavor of the month, Snart? Did you bother to learn his name this time? I mean, with a face like that, who needs to?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Len rolls his eyes, waving off the curious stares on the two of them. 

Except this is the reaction he wanted, or so he thought. He’s Leonard Snart, cool enough to have someone as photogenic (and cute) as Barry Allen on his arm. He should want the attention of the crowd and relish Mick’s snide remarks. 

Barry stiffens and introduces himself to Mick and the assembled jocks. “I’m Barry Allen.” 

“The physics nerd,” Mick translates, walking over to Len and clapping him on the back. In his other hand, a drink faintly resembling a Bloody Mary sloshes onto the new carpet. “Not bad, Lenny.” 

“And you are?” Barry asks politely. 

Mick clasps Barry’s hand in a strong shake for a tipsy teenager. “Mick Rory, the host of this fine social gathering. You’re also the cop’s kid, right?” 

Len cuts in, “He’s not going to tattle on the party, Mick, please. Stop interrogating my boyfriend.” 

“Already using official terms, are we?” Mick winks at Barry, stage-whispering, “Once Len grabs ahold of someone, he never lets go. Just a warning in case things get serious.” 

“Mick, would you mind getting us a beer or something?” Len interrupts again. 

Mick cackles and continues his tirade of wisdom. “It’s why I never dated him myself, to be honest,” he tells Barry seriously. 

“Mick,” Len repeats. God, he loves the other senior like a brother, but he’s going to throttle him if he spills any more personal information in front of Barry. Out and Proud is one thing, but personality traits are entirely different. 

“I’d actually just like a soft drink, thanks,” Barry says. 

“Such a law-abiding citizen,” Mick snickers. “Gotcha, a beer and one non-alcoholic drink coming right up.” 

“Well,” Len says as Mick saunters to the kitchen. “That was Mick. A — friend.” 

“I see,” Barry says, and glances around at the others at the party. Len knows most of them from sports, and it’s entirely possible Allen has no clue who they are. 

A jock with an aspiring ice skater curled up around him waves at Len, and, completely blanking on the dude’s name, Len waves back. 

“So,” the dude says, like it’s entirely socially acceptable to make drunk conversation across the room, “you two official or just trying it out to see how it goes with another guy?” 

He aims the question at Barry, who chokes on air. 

The dude ignores it and presses, “Yeah, you know, like experimentation? I mean, everyone’s done it at one point in their lives, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“Yeah,” Barry clears his throat, his cheeks momentarily sunburned. “I know what you mean, and no, I’m pretty sure I know who I like. And I like Len.” 

No stuttering or awkward pauses between ‘I like Len’, entirely different compared to Barry’s previous experiences with stress. Len hopes his poker face is holding up. 

The reason for Barry stating the obvious and untrue, that he actually honest-to-god enjoys Len, has to be just so for gossip purposes. 

Has to be. 

Len flips the dude off and takes Barry by the arm, rushing them into the kitchen, where they bump into Mick. 

“Ah,” the pyromaniac smiles. “Watered-down alcohol for you, my bestest friend, and Fanta for your new life partner.” 

“Right,” Len growls, and takes a swig. Illegal beer really isn’t worth it, and if Mick’s parents had a wine cabinet, he would be sorely tempted to break into it by now. 

Barry takes a sip of his Fanta, and immediately gags. “God, this is disgusting,” he manages to say. “Why?” 

Len makes reluctant eye contact with Mick, the sneaky bastard, and mouths, ‘Screwdriver?’ 

Mick winks, and Len sighs. 

“Just watered-down Fanta,” Mick says cheerfully. “Needed enough to go around for everyone who’s as straight edge as you.” 

“I’m not straight edge,” Barry mutters, “just — I don’t know. Why does there always have to be a reason for not drinking alcohol?” 

Why is Len the sane one in this conversation? Why is he the only one not turning every drink alcoholic at this godforsaken party? Why did he even invite Barry here? 

Barry frowns and shrugs, as if the apatheticness of high school has finally caught up to his exuberant spirit. Drink the fake Fanta and fit in, and try to convince yourself that it’s just Fanta. It’s not worth it to complain. 

While he’s in the kitchen, Len grabs himself a refill of (not watered down) beer and leads Barry to an unoccupied ratty couch in the corner of the living room. 

He kind of secretly wants to watch Barry get increasingly, unknowingly drunk. 

“Right,” he begins, mind blank as Barry takes another sip of his screwdriver. The boy’s lips are addling his brain, and he should probably stare at a different body part of Barry’s in order to avoid detection. And now he’s thinking of — great. “Any good conversation topics coming to mind?” 

Barry lets out a huge belch, thanks in part to the flat Fanta, and looks momentarily, mutedly shocked at himself. “Yeah,” he says, and gestures around at the dimly lit living room and the degenerate, lonely individuals who inhabit it. “Why this place? Why these friends and — acquaintances, the ones who you choose to interact with on your Friday nights? Why Mick? Our lives are so different, Len, and yours makes no sense.” 

“I’m not the one with a fake boyfriend to scare off a competitor,” Len mutters. “That’s one thing I can’t understand.” 

“Don’t mock me; you’re part of this too,” Barry mumbles into his drink. The redness of slow inebriation rolls up his cheeks, so unlike the fluster he attains in uncomfortable situations. His paleness recedes steadily, almost imperceptibly, and Len can’t look away from it, as if Barry’s tipsy cheeks hold the meaning to eternal youth. 

Barry bites his lip and stares at Len’s hand gripping the beer too tightly. 

“…Right,” Len recovers. “My life. There’s no reason I’m the way I am, Allen. I grew up with Lisa and my dad, who taught me everything I know about the finer pursuits in life. And then I went to high school, and learned how to break into stores after hours and how to hot-wire security cameras. I know fuck-all about school, especially life sciences, but if you ever need someone to break open a lock or threaten an enemy, just ask.” 

“You’re seriously offering that, when I owe you so many favors. Trust me, I’ll never need you to break any locks for me, but thank you. And I’m already doing homework for you, so.” 

They drink in silence, lounging in opposite ends of the couch, feet in each other’s laps. Len hasn’t relaxed like this, loose-limbed around someone he trusts not to set the room on fire, mind wandering to comfortable and curious places, since he was a small child. 

He hasn’t realized how much he’s missed drinking in companionable silence. 

In the distance, Mick is talking with a girl Len vaguely recognizes as the high school wrestling heavyweight champion, so he isn’t currently playing with matches and lighters and gasoline. Len isn’t on substitute parent duty. 

“You’re really not that bad at school, though,” Barry interrupts, slurring his words considerably more than before. Len slides his gaze over from Barry’s listless eyes to his wrist, slack, the screwdriver cup sideways and empty on the floor. 

Kid’s a lightweight. 

“‘M not good enough to graduate,” Len shrugs. Fuck, he’s slurring more than a minute ago. Time to open another beer, then. 

“You’re still not — terrible. If you weren’t like, struggling with multiple subjects, your GPA would be fine. But with your extracurricular activities, I’m guessing you don’t have enough time to apply yourself.” 

“Damn right,” Len agrees. 

“Waddaya want to be when you grow up?” Barry buries his head in a couch pillow with questionable stains on it. Does the light hurt his eyes, or is he just tired? 

“The best criminal in the world,” Len smiles, slow and languid. “You know, the type with their faces spread over the front pages of major newspapers, and Wanted posters on advertisements everywhere. I want to be a criminal with an urban myth behind them, like I’ve affected so many people for the worse that they’ve accepted I’m a facet of reality now.” 

“That’s sad,” Barry blinks, half-curling up so he’s buried in the side of the couch. “My dad would catch you, and you’d be stuck in prison. A reputation’s no use when you’re incarcerated.” 

“I can break out of anything,” Len assures him. “Your dad wouldn’t keep me in Iron Heights for more than a week, I guarantee you.” 

The saddest bit, he thinks about to himself, was that it’s true. 

Barry yawns, mirroring the sluggishness of Len’s brainwaves. He wants to take a nap, nice and tipsy, and wake up hours later still drunk. “That’s reassuring. I couldn’t bear if you were sent to prison.” 

Len shouldn’t ask. He’s the much more sober of the two, and he’s more likely to remember the specifics in the morning. He doesn’t need to know. Except that, of course he does. “Why would you care about me, Allen?” 

“You’re nice,” Barry yawns. “Not a lot of people are nice to me, but you — I like you.” 

There it was again, the three words that didn’t specify commitment (not by a long shot) but opened up the possibility to something more, something Len can’t think about in his present state. 

“Huh,” Len says, staring off into the distance, the unwinding threads of the couch the most important thing in his vision. He can’t look at Barry right now, he can’t. 

And now Barry’s right in front of him, sitting with his face an inch from Len’s unfocused one, and Barry leans in for a drunk kiss. 

It’s all bruising lips and avoiding bumping teeth just in time, tasting like flat Fanta and vodka, but it’s Barry Allen, his fake boyfriend — emphasis on boyfriend, maybe, if Len’s luck stays — and so it’s wonderful. 

Barry leans back, rocking as he sits. “Wow,” he says, eyes wide and skin shades darker than normal. He’s so drunk, and Len’s so in love. (He never realized, but — dammit. Of course he is. Shit.) 

“Wow,” Len agrees, and reaches up to curl a hand around Barry’s collar, pulling him back against Len’s mouth. The kiss is nicer the second time as they both relax into it, more tipsy by the minute as alcohol thrums through their veins. 

“Nice,” Barry hisses as they break apart, and Len doesn’t stop staring at his lips, shiny and red, vulnerable in their openness. He really wants to keep making out. 

“We can totally do that,” Barry says, and Len must have said that aloud. 

Barry leans in, backing Len up until he’s lying on the couch and Barry is completely on him, limbs tangled and carefree, not quite in awkward positions, the two entirely too occupied to care. 

“You won’t regret this tomorrow, will you?” Len asks as they stop to breathe. One of his hands is in the center of Barry’s chest, feeling as the other man takes deep gulps of air. 

Barry giggles. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” he murmurs, and leans back down to make out with Len. 

Which is when the sirens in the distant become noticeable, of course. 

Len straightens up, almost whacking Barry in the face with his teeth. “Are those cop cars?” he demands, looking around. The room is empty except Barry and him, and hushed voices emanate from the kitchen. 

Barry’s face goes slack as he searches for the noise. “Yeah,” he breathes. “But don’t worry. My dad makes like, routine circuits around neighborhood. Patrols? Is that what they’re called?” He frowns at Len, like Len has the answer to police details. 

The sirens whine again. Len bolts up. “Those are sirens,” he says. “And they’re coming closer. Mick!” 

Mick leans in the doorway. “Yeah, bro? We moved out so as to not interrupt your alone time. Looks like you needed it.” 

“Are the sirens getting closer?” Len demands. 

Mick stops for a second, and then glares at Barry. “Did your boy call his police contacts? Did he fucking report us?” 

“No, I swear,” Barry says, flustered. “I didn’t even bring my phone. This isn’t my fault. Are we even sure they’re coming for us?” 

“This is a nice neighborhood,” Mick says, wiping the remnants of coke off his nose. “We’re the only odd ones out, and the cops know it. They wouldn’t be here for anything else. No one fucking patrols this neighborhood when it’s not an excuse to bust something.” 

The sirens whir again, noticeably closer, maybe coming down the block. 

Mick opens the curtains and blanches. “Yeah, they’re here,” he whispers. “We’re going to need to jump the fence.” 

“I can’t jump fences,” Barry says. 

“I’ll help you,” Len growls. What a spectacular interruption to a nice night. Just wonderful. 

Mick rushes through the house ahead of the drunk couple, shouting, “Cops! Everybody out the back!” 

Len puts his arm around Barry’s back, remembering how strong Barry’s back had felt earlier, and pulls Barry after Mick as the younger man stumbles. “Come on,” he breathes. “If your dad sees you drunk out of your head and with a known criminal, he will have an aneurysm, and maybe shoot me. We gotta get you over the fence.” 

“Right,” Barry slurs, and laughs hysterically. “How is any of this happening to me?” 

“Not quite sure,” Len shrugs. “Doesn’t really matter.” 

He pulls Barry after the escaping horde of high schoolers, all of whom have left personal items strewn across the room. In the back of Len’s mind, he realizes this will lead to them all being caught. He didn’t bring anything to this party, except his motorcycle. 

It’s hard to steal good bikes now, and it will be a pain in the ass to replace, Len scowls as Barry stumbles after Mick and the crowd to the backyard, where they are vaulting the seven-foot fence, giggling. 

“There’s no way I can do this,” Barry says. 

Mick is directing the flow of traffic, as good hosts do, and he shouts, “As soon as the last of us is over, I’m setting the fence on fire! No way they can pursue you then.” 

“You don’t need another excuse to set property on fire, Mick,” Len tells him. 

“Of course I do, Snart. Nothing’s fun if there’s no flames involved. Hell, I thought this evening was going to be boring and uneventful, but it’s turned out better than expected.” He grins with wicked teeth. 

“Can you help Barry over the wall?” Len asks. The main group of teenagers have vaulted over, leaving the wooden fence leaning and slightly uprooted off the ground. They pick the drunk teenager up, supporting his feet, and Barry whoops as they toss him over. 

Len nods at Mick. “You go, now,” he says. Behind them, the front door slams open audibly, and the sounds of cultured footsteps echo on linoleum and tile. 

Mick shakes his head. “There’s not enough time for both of us,” he says, and presses a Bic lighter into Len’s hand. “You have to go, and do the honors for me.” 

“I’m not setting anything on fire for you, Mick,” Len enunciates. “And if you get caught for this party, you’ll be off worse than me.” 

Mick scoffs with false bravado. “No I won’t, Snart. Now, come on, trust me. I already told our congregation they’re getting themselves a signal in the sky as they streak across the neighborhood. I have to deliver. Please, Len. Just jump the fence and light it up, for everything you believe in.” 

“You mean, everything you believe in,” Len smiles wearily. He knows Mick’s list of offenses and the increasing penalties when juvenile delinquents (vigilantes) are caught by the law. He can’t let his friend sacrifice himself for the good of people he should feel no responsibility toward. 

“You’re right,” Mick says. “I’m the host. This is my house, my property. Maybe they’ll even give me insurance money if they know the fence wasn’t lit on fire by me. And don’t stand too close, the fence is already soaked in kerosene. It’ll be easy.” 

The cops run through the house, sounding like a pack of hunting wolves, and Len knows it’s now or never. Do or die. 

“You have a boyfriend, Len,” Mick says, exasperated. “He needs you to not be in juvie, because that would be super shitty of you. Now go.” 

Len takes a last look at the house and the doorway to the last hours of his life, the best hours of his day. And he jumps the fence. 

He can hear the cops file out, hear Mick shout, “You don’t have to point so many guns at me!” He looks at the lighter in his hand, the innocent blue thing filled with spark and flame, and thinks of Barry, who’s following the flock of drunk high schoolers as they get the hell out of dodge. They need a signal, and it wouldn’t be so noble if he wasn’t so drunk, but he’s the one to take up the mantle. 

Len flicks the lighter, watching the blue-orange flame in his palm. Sees the (kerosene-soaked, what the ever-loving fuck, Mick) fence swaying in the breeze. 

He presses the lighter to the wall of wood, and watches the flames expand from there. He feels more than hears the cops back up from the wall, and hears Mick’s high-pitched laugh, boisterous and completely unapologetic. 

Len pockets the lighter and begins to run through the middle class backyards. He’s used to jumping picket fences and avoiding ferocious dogs, who this time all avoid him due to the overwhelming smell of smoke. He doesn’t know where the drunk flock wandered off to to regroup, so he heads home. 

It’s almost midnight, and Lisa’s out shoplifting or at an AP Physics study group, so the house is quiet and lonely. Len strips out of his clothes that smell like alcohol and lighter fluid, and calculates when’s the soonest he can make a trip to Goodwill to pick up some more after he tosses these. His calves hurt, and his nose still smells singed hair, and when he looks into the mirror, he’s incredibly disheveled. He still looks like he’s just come out of a make out session, and then ran a half marathon. 

On the lonely table, his phone buzzes. Len takes a swig of milk out of the carton as he checks it. 

barry bae: hey did u get out ok? 

Len smiles. If Barry has access to his phone, then he’s made it home with no problems. Of course, if his dad was out on the job, then he wouldn’t be at home to wonder why his adopted son looks like a hangover in action. 

fine, he texts. u? 

In response, Barry calls him, and when Len picks up, he says breathlessly, “The last few hours were the most terrifying of my life, but I got home fine. Everyone’s out of the house, and I showered and did the laundry, so I can probably cover my tracks.” 

“Where did you tell your dad you were going tonight?” Len asks. 

“Sleepover with some friends,” Barry says. 

“Oh?” Len smirks. “You were planning on spending the night? Are we making our relationship that official this early?” 

“That’s not what I mean. You try coming up with a convincible excuse to your father, who is a detective and has had extensive training in lie detecting! I panicked.” 

“Good thing all my dad was good for was not being around to care,” Len says lightly, and then thinks: no, that really wasn’t a good light topic. 

Barry’s silent. 

“Never mind,” Len says. “Don’t worry about it. Did you want to spend the night?” 

“No,” Barry hurries to add. “I mean, we just kissed, which was pretty wow, but also like something we might want to talk about.” 

“Seems like there was nothing fake about it in the middle of our drunken passion,” Len drawls. 

Barry snorts. “That’s exactly what it was, Snart.” 

“Don’t make me start, Allen. I’m full of insights.” 

“Sure, sure,” Barry laughs. “But maybe we could talk about this tomorrow? I had a wonderful night, in retrospect, and I really want to go to sleep now.” 

“Go for it,” Len smiles. He’s pretty tired himself, and altogether, this would be a wonderful way to fall asleep, with the memory of Barry’s lips on his. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Where do you want to meet?” 

“Somewhere legal, maybe,” Barry says. “Maybe we could watch a movie?” 

“Yes, asking me on a date is definitely the way to not rush our relationship too fast,” Len notes. “Watching a movie with you would be awesome.” 

“See you then,” Barry says with a smile in his voice. 

Len hangs up with a grin permanently pasted on his face, and the Bic lighter rests confidently in his pocket. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> ah, my [tumblr](http://www.tylerjosephstoast.tumblr.com). what a wonderful place to be.


End file.
